


An Almost Agreeable 'Potential'

by sherlocked221



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: F/M, Jeeves being Bertie's rock, POV Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Sad Subplot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-06 12:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked221/pseuds/sherlocked221
Summary: Between Aunt Agatha's matchmaking and Tuppy's eyes for love, Bertie, in his current bad mood, is once again stuck between a rock and a hard place.But perhaps his Aunt's meddling this time might've been better than expected. There might actually be a way to get her off Bertie's back forever, if he's willing to make a small, tiny, unimportant, insignificant change in his life.And of course, Jeeves is always there to pick up the pieces and make sure Bertie doesn't make any stupid decisions he'll later regret.





	1. The Drones' Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no P.G Wodehouse. I wish I could write like him. I've tried my hardest, but forgive any mistakes and all that.  
> This had a little bit of a serious subplot than I imagine Wodehouse would've tackled in his stories. Hopefully I made the rest of the plot a bit more fun to take away from that, and kept the characters as alike his wonderful characters as possible. It really is a sort of minor plot point anyway so... I'm going to stop rambling now and let you guys actually read it.

Had the Drones’ Christmas party been anything alike the years prior, I would have considered giving it a pass in turn for a quiet evening at the piano after which I might have asked Jeeves to fix me a celebratory drink before giving him the rest of the night off. I would’ve been terribly sorry to abandon the chaps at such a festive time, but I did see them often enough. It was not yet Christmas Day, meaning I had plenty of time to catch up with them at this time without the risk of overdoing it on the old drinks. After the Boat Race night, I’d learnt my lesson. The Woosters keen and sharpened minds were better kept that way rather than inhibited by intoxication. I don’t believe I could’ve afforded another knock to what was already a reasonable criminal record.

But you might be asking yourself how your dear old Bertram Wooster would’ve known that the party would be any different without going in the first place, and I say to that you’re quite right, had it been any other year. The party was a regular affair. Drinks, music, sounds that could be construed as singing if, perhaps, you were listening from outside, and actions that may’ve appeared like fighting, but was instead a poor example of dancing. There would be games, bets, a fair amount of stripping to our draws and attempting not to get caught by any respectable members of society. All good fun that was so much the usual it was hardly planned at all. Talk would only have been of which night it would occur, not what had been planned for it. That much was a given.

However, a rumor seemed to spark that, for once, ladies might be allowed into our Gentleman’s club to join in. Now, as a red-blooded man, you can understand my change of heart, but it was not my enjoyment of the fairer sex that had me decided. It was the intrigue. How exactly would a night of male entertainment be adapted for the enjoyment of ladies too? Or if it was not to be adapted at all, which I wholly expected from my fellow Drones, I would not waste the opportunity to see what would happen.

So giving Jeeves the whole evening off and readying myself to face the night, I stood before the front door, pulling on my coat. My good manservant was going about clearing up after me, as he so well did, shimmering around so quietly and taking such pride in his act, one that I’ve never understood. In any case, I bid him a goodbye and asked him to wish me good luck.

“Luck, Sir?” He hummed in that ever inquisitive manner. Talk about a man who made you feel listened to.

“Luck, Jeeves. I may need it. While I myself am quite used to the goings on of the Drones, I can’t help feeling bad for the poor dish dragged along to witness it all.”

“Then perhaps, Sir, it is better the luck be wished to the young Ladies of this unfortunate disposition.” Jeeves suggested.

“Right, quite right.” I agreed. Jeeves was often right, and his words afforded me as great an affect as the old Dutch courage. In fact, I would hazard to say he was more comforting than any warm buzz of liquor.

With my newfound anticipation for the evening, I hopped into my car and made my way there. By the time I arrived, the place was already swarming, rowdy and loud. I felt for the poor neighbors, though wondered how many of them gave over to the festive lights and mood and came down to join in. It was clearly something of an open door affair, with no need to give your name when you entered. I wandered in quite unnoticed, though I was immediately handed a flute of Champaign by some gloved, bodiless hand accompanied by another holding a tray of such drinks.

My eyes flitted over the scene. What a scene it was. I knew not what to look at first. I noticed that, on the arm of practically every young man there was some pretty girl, dressed in her finest- though the outfits would scarcely pass a guardian or parent’s approval. I also was aware of the numerous broken bottles, smashed glasses and puddles of spilled liquids over the floor. It was something of a minefield everywhere I stepped, least of all with the numbers of people pushing and shoving and stumbling helplessly about, and the odd character dancing where there seemed to be no music, nor another soul around him with the same inclination.

Still, it all had something of a joyful atmosphere. I could’ve easily gotten swept away with it all.

I journeyed my way into the main room, kitted out with the heavy dining table pushed to the back wall and piled high with food, discarded plates and, of course, drinks. I could just about see it through the floods of people surrounding it. There may’ve been people everywhere, crowds crawling every inch of the place, but of course the most would’ve found their way to the food. And it was there I caught sight of someone familiar.

It was of little surprise that I would find Tuppy all elbows in the mass, squawking at someone about slicing up a pie. Hating to interrupt what seemed to be a heated discussion, I did tap him on the shoulder and yell, “What ho, old man,” over the chorus around us.

“Oh, What ho Bertie!” He called back, “You’re a bit late, aren’t you? You’re usually the first person down here.”

“Oh yes. Always fashionably early.”

“For a bit of drink, always.”

My friend then drew his arm out from the crowd, carrying a paper plate stacked high with all manners of food with it, and walked beside me to an inch of the room that possessed space enough for us to relax, and in Tuppy’s case, to eat. It was against the adjacent wall where the windowsills made a reasonable place to perch. An uncomfortable place, as the narrow shelf was not all that accommodating for my behind and my legs were forced to take much of my weight still, but as good a place as I could imagine we’d find. If any chairs still remained, they would be taken, or dirtied or broken for much of the night.

I avoided the splash of wine dripping slowly from the shelf onto the floor and sat down, taking my first sip of the tame drink in my hand, while Tuppy stuffed a sausage roll into his mouth. In wanting to sit close to me, and paying little attention to anything more than the pastries on his plate, I watched as he planted himself right on the section I had wisely avoided. Lord, Jeeves would’ve had a heart attack if he’d seen it.

After finishing what was in his mouth, Tuppy turned to me, clearly all a twitter about something, though the matter didn’t stop him from picking up a second sausage roll. I readied myself. I’d known my dearest Glossop for long enough to know the look he was giving me. When he wished to talk, it was usually about a girl.

“Bertie, do you see that pretty old thing by the piano?”

I refrained from sighing with predictability.

“How’s Angela?”

“Angela?” He snapped back. Good Lord, my cousin and friend could not be more compatible in their uselessness in love, and yet so incompatible for the same reason. I could tell already that there was yet another story of why Tuppy’s eyes wandered, a story he did not wish to explain, “Fine I ‘spose. Why aren’t you looking?!” he hissed, gesturing with a wild nod over at the piano, which had also been pushed up against a wall, pressed closer than usual. Through the open lid and bodies obscuring much of my view, I did see a slither of a girl at the instrument. She was joined by a man in a white suit- much like the kind I recalled Jeeves had requested to discard when I’d come home with it one afternoon. She tossed her flame red hair all over one shoulder and leant backwards with an air of excitement. Clearly she was quite swept up in the moment, singing at the top of her lungs, and yet still under the noise of the party.

“Yes, yes.”

“Isn’t she stunning, Bertie?” My old friend continued, after having swallowed whatever else he’d eaten. Though there was the slight muffled sound of someone recovering their vocal chords after their throat had been otherwise occupied, his voice also possessed the quality of a man utterly smitten. I knew it all too well with Tuppy.

“A fair girl, or what I can see of her.”

“She’s lovely, a…”

“A Goddess?” I finished his sentence with a certain fond teasing. I knew the words as though they were a script, the script of Hildebrand Glossop and his infatuations, “You worship the very ground she walks on and all that drivel.”

“Drivel?” He exclaimed, quite offended, “It’s not drivel. It’s true.”

It was not that I had lost my interest for such matters, or my keen desire to see my friends happy, whether it be in love or alone, but you can understand my slight reluctance to jump to excitement every time Tuppy had fallen for a girl. Just as with the on-off betrothal to my cousin, these girls he finds and falls for are so often gone from his life as soon as they are in. And you can imagine my preferring that he did not upset my kin by playing with her heartstrings every time their relationship cooled a little.

And yet, as per the Woosters code, I could not ignore a man so helplessly in love as Tuppy.

“What’s her name then?”

“Name?” He seemed startled by the question, as though it were the strangest one I could’ve asked, “ _Name_. Well apparently it’s Anne.”

“Apparen…” I huffed, dropping my gaze to my lap, “You mean you haven’t spoken to her yet?”

“Not exactly.”

“My dear Tuppy, how can you have fallen for a girl you haven’t met?”

“Just look at her!” He insisted, laying his free hand out and pointing in her direction. He clearly had a better view of her from his angle than myself, and was unaware that, for the most part, I was staring at the hammers and strings of a piano. I just about caught her eye. She had quite a plain face, the most striking feature of which was her red hair, a tuft of which hung over her left eye. She was not unattractive, but not quite who I’d imagine Tuppy going for. I hardly could believe she’d welcomed herself into the humdrum of a Gentleman’s club party with an innocent expression such as her soft features emitted, but she did seem to be getting on far better than I had imagined many girls to.

“Well, how do you know she didn’t come with her fiancé or husband or something?” I pointed out.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t really know much about her.” He then lay a hand on my shoulder and gasping as though he’d just had an idea. But it was too well rehearsed. He had no doubt planned this since he’d first set eyes on her, “You couldn’t go over and get acquainted with her for me, could you?”

I was waiting for the clincher, the request my friends so often would come out with for me to further their chances with a young lady. And ever the good friend, I felt obliged.

“Oh, _dash it Tuppy._ ” I whined at him, but of course he did not seem to take notice. He smiled and patted me on the back, calling me what I knew I must’ve been, a ‘good friend.’

As I got up and collected myself, ready for the rabble, I kept thinking, ‘How badly could I pip an introductory conversation?’

I left Tuppy behind to get through as much of his plate as he could without throwing up, and as quick as possible so he may be able to go back and get seconds before all the food was gone. I decided I needed to pick my moment with this girl. No girl, while otherwise engaged, would be at all pleased if a fellow interrupted her for a quick, pointless chat. Least of all when she seemed perfectly happy being the life of the party. I knew that Tuppy was no doubt watching my every movie and egging me on, but this sort of thing couldn’t be rushed. There were a great many things I probably was not all that good at. Several people at this party alone would support that. But speaking to ladies, I was not incapable of. I wandered around a little longer, surveying her, watching for a moment to slip into her company quite as seamlessly as she slipped her hair over her shoulder once more.

The closer I got to her and better look I got, I came to the conclusion that as lookers go, she was certain quite the dish. Plain still, but the kind of girl you could take home to your parents with ideas of marriage, if you were at all inclined to do such a thing. That was, if your kin didn’t see her partying with the best of them, as she was in that moment. She didn’t touch a drop of drink, but seemed as though she had, with those wonderful high spirits and fit of giggles she was in. Everyone around her was totally intoxicated and she seemed to fit it, a school of fish swimming together. Like some kind of shark, I wanted to single her out, get her alone, so I could talk to her.

Finally, she got up from the piano stool which she had been sharing. She climbed up over it, unfazed by the wholly clumsy, unfeminine way she did so, and clambered to her feet halfway across the room. Once standing up properly, she walked with all the grace of a sober woman, with the smiles of a chorus girl and, well, she was a curious mixture of a woman.

It was my chance. As smoothly as possible, I slid towards her through the gaps of bodies between us. Somehow, I put myself in her way, forced her to see me. And when she had, she afforded me a sweet, but strangely timid smile.

“What ho.”

She gave me a passing, “hello,” on her way to the drinks table, not knowing that I sought more than that. I followed her, casually jaunting up to her side. Her expression upon realizing that I had wanted her attention was, least to say, daunted, as though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would approach her. Perhaps did she not know what a looker she was? Or that she had seemed quite the social butterfly?

“Sorry to butt in here…”

She sort of turned towards me, a slight quizzical gaze in her eyes. Yes, I must’ve looked quite strange, to be honest. I wouldn’t say I was the smoothest man in these situations. It would’ve been understandable in the end had I been the man wishing for her ultimate attention, but as I was merely a recruit for one of my friends too nervous to approach her himself, I did get the look she gave me really. I felt sorry for her.

“I just…” I stammered, since she left the air open to be filled with some kind of conversation, “I haven’t seen you around here before, and I…”

“This is a Gentleman’s club, isn’t?” She replied, her voice a littler sterner than I had imagined.

“Yes well…”

“Then you wouldn’t have seen me here before, would you.”

“No well…”

There I went again. Bertie Wooster, somehow got engaged practically every week, yet couldn’t have a normal conversation with a girl. Not without her looking at me as though I was a mad man. I swore I was not, but too many people already believed so. I was starting to wonder myself.

Yet the girl this time pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled. Perhaps in my short silence she’d warmed to me. I just needed to remember not to open my mouth again.

“I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this sort of thing.” She apologized. What sort of thing, I couldn’t help thinking. Not good at talking? She bally well seemed like it when she had been at the piano. Clearly she didn’t think enough of herself. I must’ve startled her, poor thing.  

“Oh, no matter. We’re all friends around here. Not easily offended. Anyway, I sort of came over to um…” I glanced over at Tuppy. He was watching on intensely, meeting my eyes for a moment and gesturing at the girl encouragingly as if I wasn’t already perusing her for him. I would’ve mentally reprimanded him had I not wanted to scare the young girl off by inadvertently bringing her attention to the man staring wondrously at her. For now, she should be spared that. Quickly, I looked back at her and chuckled.

“Yes?”

“Well, er, I was asked by a chum to come over and find out your name.”

“My name?” She parroted, “Which chum?”

“Tuppy.” I replied, pointing over my shoulder to the man still perched on the windowsill. When I peered back again, he was waving shyly at her, and equally as shyly, she waved back, “Least to say he’s a bit taken by you.”

“By me?”

“And sort of sent me over here to find out the works. You know, name, interest in a little courtship, all that.”

At that, she laughed softly. She averted her eyes from Tuppy and cast her attentions on finding a drink. She bypassed everything alcoholic, reaching instead for a pitcher of water whose ice that once swam in it now were the size of peas and practically drowned. She filled up a glass before returning to our conversation.

“You can tell him that my name is Anne, and that he has very good taste in friends.”

Bashfully, I chuckled, “You could say that.”

“Well, dashed kind friends to do this sort of thing for him. What’s your name?”

“Bertie.”

“Pleased to meet you. And you can tell Tuppy I’d be pleased to meet him.”

“Perhaps I can fix you both a drink.” I suggested, but she shook her head.

“No, thank you. I don’t.”

“Drink?”

“No. Odd, I know. I’ve just never been inclined for that stuff.” She then leaned in towards me, “Though I can still have plenty of fun without it.”

Well, I’d met a few types who don’t drink in my time. Gussy Finknottle, for one, who I had glimpsed at the party with a glass of orange juice as a substitute. That boy I had to look after in New York… um… Motty Pershore, who didn’t drink until he did, and it became something of a problem before his mother came to collect him. But they’re all types you might expect not to down a glass or two of something strong, and you could say that she didn’t quite seem the type to do so, but with my first image of her being quite a rowdy, party-induced one, it was surprising to think she didn’t have the odd sip of Champaign.

Yet it was no matter. This girl was a curious one, but not mine to attempt to work out.

“Yes, quite.” I answered quietly, “I’ll go and get Tuppy now I think.”

“Good idea.”

That was the last time I spoke to her that night. I let my old friend alone with her and found other means to occupy myself. I found Bingo and Gussy and had a few drinks with them until they practically could not talk anymore and I resolved to go home. The night was ok, but quite typical, the girls’ aspect adding little in the ways of difference and excitement. I managed to go much without note.

“Good evening, Jeeves.” I said, finding my valet almost exactly where I had left him, or doing exactly what he had been doing when I had left, as though he had not stopped. It was as thought he’d known I was coming back, and rather than letting me find him in the midst of a thrilling book or listening to the wireless, he’d began again his work. It was strange, since I had never expressed my wish to see him only as my valet. He had days off, he was a normal man, he surely had hobbies and interests above making tea and pressing my clothes. I was not a strict man. Instead, he was.

“Good evening, Sir.” He strode up behind me and helped me out of my coat, relieving me also from my scarf. “Can I make you a tea?”

“Er…” I cast a sweeping gaze over the pristinely kept flat, wondering if I fancied one, but it was as though Jeeves had a better grasp on my cravings than I did. After placing down my clothes, he was already walking towards the kitchen, “Yes, yes, I think that would be nice before bed. Had a good evening?”

“A pleasant one, Sir.” He replied, his voice seemingly no louder, yet carrying effortlessly from the kitchen to the living room where I sat down, “And yours?”

“It was alright. I wasn’t quite in the mood for all the humdrum this time, but sometimes we must indulge in such things to be sociable, what?”

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Especially at this time of year. Tis the season to be jolly and all that. Time for friends and family. Kisses under the proverbial mistletoe, dancing around Christmas trees. Speaking of kisses Jeeves, our Mr Glossop seems to have wandered from the side of my cousin, Angela. I was made to play matchmaker once more for my hopeless friend in his pursuit of a girl named Anne.”

“Anne, Sir?” My good man had returned to the room, carrying a tray as though it weighed a feather. He set it down on the table beside me, and dropped a perfect measurement of milk into the already brewing tea.

“Yes. That’s all I know about her. I couldn’t gauge a single thing about her other than what she told me, and she told me that her name was Anne. One moment she was shy, the next she was defensive towards yours truly, then she was all friendly. What do you suppose that was all about?”

Standing up, Jeeves employed a thoughtful gaze and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Without knowing the girl it is hard to say, sir, but if you say that she was first shy towards you, I would say that is her natural self, and the other less understandable reactions you witnessed of her stemmed from her not knowing how to perform around you. It is common amongst anyone who finds the company of others less pleasant and more a chore.”

“I beg to differ, Jeeves old chap.” I remembered my true first impression of her, and that was hardly a timid young girl in the corner of the room, “You didn’t see her at the piano, surrounded by a whole throng of people, laughing away.”

“Ah, but were they friends of hers, sir?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it can be understood that we are, in the company of our friends, more comfortable and therefore more inclined to let one’s self go.”

There Jeeves was again with the seemingly obvious explanations for things that often escaped me. For a man so aloft and often silent, he seemed to know so much of the world. I was often in awe of it, of his ability to read people, to predict their actions. I thought I was reasonable at such a thing, but beside him, I often looked the oaf.

Smiling at him as he walked away, I drunk my tea and thought about bed. I was quite ready for it. Jeeves assisted me in dressing into my pajamas, before he bid me a goodnight and checked once more what time I’d like to be woken. As it had been a later night and with nothing much planned for the next day, I told him a little later than usual.


	2. Mr Glossop's problem

Of course, if I had been so lucky. It felt as though I’d only just fallen into a deep sleep when Jeeves’ pleasant cough stirred me. I was surprised to find the room bright, when it felt as though it should still be in shadows. My sleep-heavy eyes strained as I sought out the figure of my valet. I had to remember not to sound so groggy at a man who was surely only doing his job in waking me.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Morning, Jeeves? Is it? Haven’t I only slept an hour?”

“No, Sir. It is 8 O’clock.”

“And what is so important that I must be woken at this time?”

Calmingly, he explained, “It is Mr Glossop, Sir. I did attempt to explain that you were tired from your night before, and would be reluctant to see him at this time, however he has taken to sitting in your front room and asking me to check whether you have woken by your own volition.”

I sighed, “In other words, he was annoying you.”

The man pursed his lips in pride and rocked carefully on his feet, “I was instead concerned that my constantly looking in was something of a breach of privacy.”

“Rot, Jeeves. You know very well that I could not care less if you look in on me 20 times in the night, as long as I am left to sleep.”

“Very good, Sir.” He conceded, but did not move. I had hoped that might inspire him to go and give Tuppy a right kicking up the backside, or at the very least get him to come back later if he must see me.

That was not the case.

Stuck in a battle of wits between my fatigued self and my ever stoic manservant, I knew I was at a loss. But dash it if I wasn’t going to be brought into the day kicking and screaming.

“Hand me my dressing gown.” I instructed of him. To his frustration, I would not dress until the very least moment it was required of me. I would address my friends dressed in old night clothes, conduct my business in a pair of slippers. I would not be defeated. I was in too bad a mood for that.

Silently, Jeeves unhooked my dressing gown from its hanger in the wardrobe and brought it to me, by which time I’d still not managed to coax myself out of bed. Hotly, I pushed the blankets off my body and sucked in a breath through my teeth as the cold of the morning penetrated my clothes. I then heaved my creaking body onto my feet and turned away from Jeeves so that he may help me into the gown.

“Sir, am I right in suggesting you’re not quite in the right of sorts this morning?”

“You’re dashed right.” I snapped, “Surely you know that I don’t like to be woken up this way.”

“I am aware, Sir, but I still think this response is somewhat uncharacteristic of you.”

As I turned around, I met Jeeves’ concerned gaze. I heard it now, my pompous attitude, my dismissive, grumpy tone. I had wished not to be this way, told myself not to when I had woken up, despite it being against my wishes, and yet the ugly head of my less positive traits reared from within. I had felt that way the day before too. It was something about this time of year I had seemingly lost my enthusiasm for. Something had sapped me of my energy. Perhaps I merely could see the dread of the day coming.

“Yes,” I sighed, “I’m sorry Jeeves. Terribly grumpy, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t like to say, Sir.”

“But you think it.” I huffed, “I don’t know what has gotten into me. I wish I could be like you and be ‘better directly.’” I chuckled, attempting to imitate his voice. Though he also gave a small, fond smile at me, I could tell he did not think much of my impression. Still, I tapped him on the arm and apologized again. All was mended between us, but between myself and Tuppy, well I was still ready to tear him to pieces if his coming here and insisting that poor Jeeves, who would get the butt of my morning mood, come and wake me. When I saw him sitting in my chair, smiling weakly with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, my expression hardened again. Jeeves slipped away from behind me into the kitchen. I did feel dashed bad about him.

“Well?”

“Bertie!” Tuppy exclaimed, all too friendly. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my dressing gown.

“I say, don’t you know the dangers of waking a man so early?” I reprimanded him, watching him swallow guiltily, like a fish falling beneath the surface of water to escape being seen.

“Yes, well sorry old chap. I just had to come and see you.” Suddenly, his shame melted away, replaced by an eagerness to speak, “You remember that girl yesterday?”

“Anne.”

“Yes.” He said quite harshly, “You didn’t tell me she was engaged.”

“I didn’t know did I?” I huffed. I’d only spoken to her for two ruddy minutes, less time than he had spent with her. What did he expect of me? A whole screening. I could only do so much. And all he asked of me was to get acquainted enough with her to point him out and find out how interested she would be.

“No, well she is. Or she’s going to be. Her aunt or some such is taking her to meet a man today. Lucky blighter.”

 “Quite, quite.”

It seemed there was not much else to the conversation further than that. Tuppy was upset that this girl was not available and I was not yet in the right state of mind to listen to his woes. Not even when Jeeves brought me my morning tea did I feel my spirits lift. I was in a bad mood and that was it. Very little could be my salvation. The day would just have to be chalked down as a dud. If only it could be quiet day, I could return to bed for another hour or two, replenish myself and perhaps lunch somewhere that might make me smile. By the Thames perhaps.

“Bertie, are you listening?”

Tuppy’s words cut into my misty thoughts like a bucket of cold water.

“Tuppy, girls come and go. Sometimes you have to let them go to let the next one come along. It’s when a girl stays that you should take note, no?”

“You mean Angela.”

The venom with which he spat my cousin’s name told me that, perhaps, it was not quite the ticket to remind him of a love now turned sour.

“What did you do to the poor girl?” I sighed. Again, it did not seem the best thing to suggest he had been the cause of this mood. Offended, my friend sat up in the chair, sat forward, lent his elbows on his knees and pointed at me.

“More like what she’s done to me. In any case, I’m over her. I want Anne.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I finally resolved, “Ask Jeeves.”

And as though knowing his services were about to be needed, Jeeves appeared like a guardian angel in the kitchen doorway.

“Yes, Sir?”

Ever a life saver.

So Tuppy put his problem to my man, but as I expected, there was very little Tuppy could do. Even Jeeves was at a loss, without knowing the girl, her Aunt or who she was to marry, he couldn’t meddle. No, without Jeeves and his infinite knowledge, there was nothing he could do to help.

“It is regrettable, sir.”

“Dashed regrettable!” Tuppy agreed, before he seemed to recoil in despair, saying the girl’s name as though she was fading out the doorway. He sat there for several minutes wallowing, and I sat opposite waiting. Was he not done?

He was not. Not, at least, done sitting in my flat, keeping me from my bed. I realized he had little intention of leaving when Jeeves offered to make him a tea, and he asked if I was going to have breakfast.

Well yes! That was my plan, but not for another couple of hours, and hopefully I’d take it in bed. Of course, I refrained from being a dreadful old sack and asked him to stay for the meal, though I’d not bear his love talk much longer than I needed to. I excused myself to get dressed, while Jeeves began on the food and Tuppy sat alone, perhaps to come to his senses.

Sometimes, I wondered when Jeeves had the time to do everything in the flat. I walked into my bedroom to find my bed made, my tables cleaned and clothes laid out for me. When I turned around, as if to give Jeeves a look of confusion, I actually found him behind me. I swore I saw him wander into the kitchen. Surely he should’ve been there rather than in here with me. But in any case, he was there and began about his usual duties as I dressed. It was as though I had employed more than one man, one for each room.

“I say, Jeeves, must I bear this all day? A man has his own problems to navigate.”

“It is difficult to say, Sir. Mr Glossip is clearly in need of a friend.”

The way he spoke the last phrase was a little suggestive of something. Blasted if I know what he could’ve been hinting at, but I knew his tone now well enough to hear its distinct change.

“What do you mean?”

“I would not like to take a liberty, Sir, but I fear there is a lack of your distinguishing willingness to assist a friend.”

“There is…”

“Are you unwell, Sir?”

I looked down at myself, quite disappointed.

“I am starting to think so. I don’t know why I’m so…” I let out a short groan which seemed to say it all. As well as I knew Jeeves, he knew me probably even better, so he understood what I had meant as clearly as if I used words. He even, as he often did, seemed to have an explanation. Now that, I would’ve liked to hear, as if he could explain to me the inner workings of my own mind or body that was causing this mood, I would’ve underestimated his mind-reading abilities criminally. 

“Sir, if I might suggest…”

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to suggest anything more, as the phone began belling, so off he ankled with a short apology, and I was left to dress. He’d set out quite a casual suit, a dark grey which seemed to match the storm cloud of a mood I had gotten so close to understanding a moment ago. Still, I endeavored to be out of it as much as I could, thinking instead of lighter matters, like how handsome a morning it was. The sun spilled in from the window Jeeves had opened and few clouds spoiled the lovely blue of the sky. Yes, a nice day out in the city, a walk by the Thames. That all seemed already to brighten me.

But the world did not seem to like my recovering of my cheerful disposition. Either that, or practically everybody knew exactly when I was starting to pick myself back up, at which point they’d pull the bally rug from under me.

When Jeeves returned to me, I heard the distinct sound of the front door shutting.

“Someone at the door, Jeeves?” I asked.

“No, Sir. Mr Glossop has left.”

“I can’t say I’m disappointed. I don’t think I’m up to playing agony aunt today.”

I thought I detected a slight sympathy in the look he gave me as he replied, “No, Sir.” I understood why a moment later, when he added, “Mrs Gregson was on the phone, Sir. She has asked me to prevent you from leaving today. She wished to call upon you this morning and was checking you were both awake and home.”

Just the name of my Aunt shook me. There I was, knocked once more now with no hope of heaving myself up until she had come and gone.


	3. Mrs Gregson's predicament

“What ho, Aunt Agatha.” I said as cheerily as I could feign. When the pearl-clad, patterned handbag carrying woman stormed into my flat with all the elegance of a bull, she was followed by the far too familiar scent of her perfume. It was like a wall of the puff assaulting my nostrils before her booming voice could assault my ears. It took much of my will not to wince, resolving to breathe as shallowly as possible as she walked past me.

She kindly greeted Jeeves with a face-brightening smile. I did not get anything so friendly. The lines of her face creased and lips pursed in a natural look of disgust I wasn’t sure was her resting expression, or natural reaction to yours truly. Without bothering to reply to my greeting, she plopped herself down in one of my chairs and looked expectantly at Jeeves.

“A tea, madam?”

“Thank you Jeeves.”

With the pleasantries out of the way, she wasted no time in addressing me. Of course she was there for a purpose. It was not as if she’d come to see her dearest nephew. If she had, she was in the wrong flat.

“You are coming to lunch with me today.”

I watched my plans evaporate into some distant, fanciful thought.

“Oh, I am?” I replied, lightheartedly, “It’s just that I had…”

“No you didn’t.” She insisted. I decided it was better I shut my mouth. And stand up straight, as she reminded me. And not greet her so informally, as she also added. I felt like asking if there was any other changes she could suggest I make to my person that would make me more agreeable for her, but I had a feeling she might’ve suggested I refrain from using sarcasm. I didn’t trust my own mouth that day. It seemed full of frustration and scorn. That was no way to treat my A.G, not only because she was something like my guardian, but also whatever I doled out to her, I’d bally well get back in bucketfuls.

“I want you to meet this girl. She is very sweet and shy, so do try not to scare her off with your… self.”

The last thing I needed was another attempt at getting me engaged, with the day I was having, I could really do without. But already I saw Aunt was in no mood- if ever she was- to be reasoned with. I sucked in a breath and smiled.

“Am I to meet this ‘potential’ at lunch then?”

“No.” She replied definitively. So what was this? My Aunt finally wanting to spend time with me, her least favourite of all her loathed nephews? Surely not. I waited for the explanation, but it did not come from her. It came from the knock at the door. Jeeves, sliding into the room as though he’d always been there, opened it to reveal a girl, trying to conceal her breathlessness. I could just about see her chest rise and fall behind Jeeves’ arm. He stood in front of her, welcoming her in, meaning I only saw flashes of her until she walked to my Aunt’s side.

“Good Lord!”

Anne, while Aunt Agatha’s attention fell on me to chide me for such an exclamation, brought one of her gloved fingers up to her lips and looked quietly down at the carpet. I’d hazard to say she too looked pretty shocked, but did a jolly better job than I did at staying calm. When she next met my eyes, she smiled sympathetically.

“Is something the matter, Bertie?” My Aunt asked over her cup of tea.

“No, no Aunt Agatha, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. I just… well, you look dashed familiar.” I said to the girl. She hid her mouth with her hand.

“Bertie. Anne is not the kind of girl used to hearing such language. Will you kindly refrain from using it in front of her?”

“Yes, right. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Anne replied calmly, in a smaller voice than I remembered her having. I wondered for a moment if she wasn’t the same Anne as last night. Surely there were plenty of ginger-headed young things called ‘Anne,’ around. What were the odds that two should wander into my company one night after the other? I made a mental note to ask Jeeves that later on- because if anyone knew the answer, it would be him- and carried on glancing at her while my Aunt spoke, to see whether her shock was prompted by my language, or her recognizing me.

If she was the girl that Tuppy had been mooning over the night before and we did get engaged or something equally as drastic, I could foresee that as one person popped into my life, someone else was going to pop out. Perhaps after giving me a biff on the nose, as though it would be my fault I was coaxed into an arrangement with her.

“You’re to take Anne out today and meet me in the _Le Salon_ restaurant at 1.”

“Oh, right ho.”

“Do refrain from such _vulgar_ nonsense.” She snapped, before darting her eyes between both me and my court and affording us a proud smile, “You both are going to have such fun, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“ _Rather_.”

We both agreed, much to the approval of my Aunt. It seemed her work here was done, as she sipped the last of her tea, set it down on the table beside her and heaved herself up out of the chair. She waddled towards the door Jeeves hurried to hold open, and as kindly as I’d ever seen or heard her, she thanked him. Oh, everyone loved Jeeves. If only I was half as good at sorting out people’s pickles I might get something resembling a smile my way from my A.G.

She didn’t even look back or call goodbye, just walked out into the corridor and called for the lift. The door was shut behind her, and that was that. I was left with a girl to entertain and the dread of having to take my Aunt to lunch later.

At the very least, I might be able to get a walk by the Thames, since I could think of nothing else respectable to do with Anne.

“Shall I get your coat, sir?”

Jeeves’ calming voice broke the silence between us all.

“Er, yes please.”

“Who’s this?” Anne piped up, gesturing with her thumb at Jeeves. She was sounding a little more like the Anne I had met at the Drones. But what I could not wrap my head around was how she knew my Aunt Agatha, and by what act of fate had brought the very girl that Tuppy was interested in to my door. It just seemed like… well it seemed overly familiar to me. How often must this sort of thing happen to me?

“Jeeves.”

“Hello Jeeves.”

My man had retrieved my coat from the coat cupboard and was helping me into it when he replied, “Good morning, Madam.” Anne seemed to find what was quite a simple, polite greeting, terribly amusing.

“And what do you do?” She giggled, clasping her deep violet purse with two hands. She was dressed in a knee-length skirt and blouse ensemble in the same dark colour. Burgundy applique flowers crept up from the hem of the lower garment and seemed to carry on over the shirt to her shoulder. Over the shirt was a knit cardigan, falling to her waist. She had quite a small frame, and a young face that expressed a cheekiness in the absence of my Aunt.

“I am Mr Wooster’s personal gentleman, his Valet.”

She laughed again, “How posh. I’m sorry, I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

“Yes, you said that last night.”

“I did?”

“Yes. I think you were referring to not being used to talking to a strange man who wandered up to speak to you.”

She smirked, “Yes, well I’m not. Nor am I used to this sort of… well… I’m sure we can talk about that when you take me out.”

“Oh, rather.” I hummed, trying to hide my confusion. She was still a character I could not quite understand, a girl of mystery and ever changing impressions.

Sufficiently clad for the reasonable weather outside, I opened the door and gestured for the young lady to… well ladies first and all that. Politely, she bowed her head to me and strutted out, calling back, “See you later, Jeeves.”

“Goodbye, Madam.”

In the lift, we hardly looked at one another, never mind spoke. She sometimes gave me a quick glance, a smile as though to break the ice between us. It didn’t work.

“I say,” I did say finally, “Would you be opposed to a short walk?”

I hoped the surroundings on our wander might give us something to prattle about.

I was quite right in believing the day would be a pleasant one. The sun that so rarely bothered to show its face beat down on us as though we were buns in an oven, being lightly baked. Not a cloud dared to cover it either. The few streaked across the sky were thin and few between.

The Thames itself was a chorus girl’s costume under a spotlight, sparkling beautifully. It reflected the satisfying blue of the sky. Yes, yes this was making me feel better already. And though I may’ve found the quietness between myself and my companion uncomfortable, it was a nice change to be with someone, but alone in my thoughts.

Nor did I mind when she started talking.

“You know, you don’t have to listen to Mrs Gregson. All this rot about not using vulgar language and all.”

“Oh well, I didn’t think it would bother you too much, what with seeing you at the Drones.”

I started to think that Jeeves might have been right, as if that was a difficult conclusion to come to. Anne seemed shy. She did as she had in my flat, clasped her hands around her purse and chuckled down at her feet, “Oh yes. I’m sorry about all that. Dashed good evening it was, though.”

“Sorry about all what?”

“I’m assuming you weren’t around too long then?”

“No, I left. Don’t want to overdo it.”

“Well, Tuppy didn’t seem very happy with me.”

“Oh no…” I recalled my friend sitting grumpily in the living room, despairing over another girl lost, “…yes.”

“I didn’t realize the man my mother wanted me to meet was the very man who introduced me to him.”

“Yes, well I’m frightfully sorry about that.”

She shook her head, lightly, “No no. Tuppy’s a sweet man, but clearly a little bit fickle. The more jugged he got, the less he seemed interested in me compared to the blonde daisy thing that was dancing about.”

She seemed to have gathered quite an accurate impression of my old friend. I told her as much. She said there were a few men that were easily read, accusing me of it too. I would’ve countered it had I the evidence to back it up. All I could think of was how well Jeeves could read me. Like I say, he knew me better than I did.

“Anyway,” She continued, staring out at the river, “I’m not much interested in this whole engagement business. My Mother’s been in cohorts with Mrs Gregson for ages. My own personal matchmakers I never wanted nor asked for. Oh I go along with it all, else my mother would be devastated. Then I find a way to wriggle out. It’s never that difficult, especially when the men do much of the work. They’re a lot like you, and that turns my mother off when she realizes. I assume Mrs Gregson was quite honest about you when she was telling my mother. It might be harder to wriggle out.”

“Now, look here!” I found myself saying, quite in shock. I paused, and she did the same a few steps ahead of me, turning on her heels to face me. I hadn’t quite expected to be insulted on this trip.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you’re a bad person. You’re perfectly nice. Actually quite agreeable. I’m just not interested in getting married.”

Well, good then, “Nor am I.”

“Good then.” She agreed.

She looked over her nose at me, as though waiting for something more. What possibly I could say to that, I didn’t know.

“Aren’t we on a walk?”

Ah, yes, that was what she wanted. It had slipped my mind that I’d stopped. It took a moment more before I could engage my legs in the act. I honestly was just a little bit taken aback. For a shy girl, she was frank, and fast. She cut to her point without leaving room for me to take it in. One minute she was insulting me, the next complementing me- if the word ‘agreeable’ was complementary- and the next she was placing marriage quite out of the picture. I would’ve been offended, if the latter didn’t intrigue me. Without that expectation, the pretense of us getting to know one other for an outcome, I almost became more inclined to enjoy her company.

I held out my arm for her, and politely, she took it.

“So you said it was your mother who was trying to pawn you off on a man?”

“Yes. She’s desperate to see me happy with a husband and children. I can’t think of anything more unhappy.” She laughed.

I laughed too.

“Yes, I share your thoughts somewhat on that. But I only ask because Tuppy said it was your Aunt, or something.”

“No, no Aunt. He may’ve meant your Aunt. Not that he _knew_ , of course. I didn’t even know that you were the man I was coming to meet today. He didn’t take it too well when I told him about today, even though I had said I wasn’t taking it that seriously.”

“No, Tuppy is like that with love. Takes things a bit too seriously.”

“But you don’t?”

“One doesn’t like to rule these things out, but one hasn’t exactly been actively trying to find it.”

She nodded. We were silent for a moment, enjoying the lovely walk it had turned out to be. Of course, I had to spoil it with more of my twaddle.

“What did you mean by ‘it might be harder to wriggle out?”

“Oh well, it’s clear you haven’t got the gall to tell your Aunt that you’re not going to get engaged to me, and I usually play along until my mother deems her choice of man unsuitable for me, and I just don’t see that happening.”

“So?”

“So, I _can_ see us actually getting married because we can’t do anything else.”

While it did cross my mind that it was a little bit early for such thoughts- this was only our first official meeting- it did have a ring of possibility. Enough to worry me.

“Don’t we just need to persuade your mother that I’m unsuitable?”

“You’d think it would be that easy, but you do realise that your Aunt knows you far too well.”

“In what way?”

“She knows you sabotage your engagements.”

I stammered to say something to counter the fact, but in that laid my problem; it was a fact.

Still, I didn’t feel too blown. No matter what predicament I found myself in, especially in the female department, I had a way out, someone to put my problems to, and who’d often lift me out of the hole I’d been dug into.

Squeezing the girl’s arm lightly, I told her not to worry. For the Woosters may not be the best at brewing up a scheme, but we were, “in luck, I think. You’ve not witnessed the great problem solving power of my man, Jeeves.”


	4. Mrs Gregson's Interrogation

When the hour of our lunch with my Aunt approached, neither Anne nor myself felt at all like attending. You can understand my reluctance. I didn’t mind a good meal with a relative. The company may be a bit sour, to be as tame as possible, but it wasn’t as though I could tell her I was busy. I never could. You don’t say no to Aunt Agatha, unless you’d like to know how one can be talked to death. I was sure if anyone would make such an end to one’s life possible, the person to carry it out would be her.

It was instead the reason for her wanting to dine with me.

But to my surprise, I was shared in my feet-dragging. I don’t know why I was shocked. Actually, I shouldn’t have been at all. Aunt Agatha wasn’t in the habit of rubbing people up the right way let’s say, and Anne had already said she was less than enthused by her matchmakers. Yet when she suggested we should bypass lunch and tell Mrs Gregson that we were so enamoured in one another’s company we’d gotten a bit distracted and forgotten about our plans with her, she did surprise me. She was serious too, if her tone was anything to go by, but we begrudgingly decided against it.

“She might get the wrong idea and think we might actually go through with this.”

And we didn’t want that. We’d play along, but not that convincingly. We didn’t even keep linked arms as we walked into the restaurant. I did, however, do the gentlemanly thing of helping her into her chair, before giving my A.G a kiss on her stern cheek.

“There now. Have you already taught him some manners, my girl?” My relative chuckled. She had been sitting at a table for four, perusing the menu and wine list with interest. Mackintosh, her grey-haired terrier (who I assumed to be her equivalent of a witch’s black cat) sat at her feet with a china bowl of water by his nose. Both pet and owner seemed to be wearing a collar of sorts, Mackintosh had a thick leather one, my Aunt a fashionable choker. Clipped to the dog’s one was a matching lead, tied in a bow around the table leg. I watched as Anne, sitting opposite me and beside the pooch, leant down and greeted it with a friendly cuddle.

“I’m not sure about that.” She responded to Mrs Gregson a moment later, “He seems to have manners of his own. You must’ve taught him well.”

The scoff that escaped the older woman’s mouth was probably the closest she could come to laughing.  Such expressions of joy were foreign to her, unless she was cackling around her cauldron at home. But I myself had to swallow a burst of disbelief. By Jove this girl knew how to flatter. I was left astounded in my seat.

“I trust you both enjoyed yourselves then?”

Both Anne and I met each other’s gaze, as if to ask ‘well, what do we say?’ How far do we play this? I felt more like asking her, since she’d taken the lead reigns and was dragging me along. After all, she was a little bit more proficient in this sort of thing than I. Usually, my first act would be to put the problem to Jeeves. While we had that in mind, we hadn’t had the chance before this lunch, so we had to follow Anne’s plan until further notice.

“Oh, yes. We had quite a relaxing wander about the city, what?” I managed.

“Oh yes. Quite. It’s a marvellous day out.”

“I thought it was quite cold.” My Aunt countered. I was inclined to agree. It had suddenly gotten quite chilly, almost as soon as we had gotten into the restaurant.

“Well, you know how it is. Some people are more susceptible to the cold and all that. But we were up and walking. Probably worked up quite the sweat.”

“Oh yes, and appetite.”

My Aunt hummed. Her eyes darted between the two poor blighters at her table and the menu sitting stiffly in her hands. She gave us quite the suspicious look. More so me than Anne, or the menu. She then diverted the conversation in the direction of what everyone was ordering. She and Anne began discussing what three course meal could be served to the terrier pouting strangely quietly by their chairs. Quietly, I turned my attention to food as well.

I was never too fond of this restaurant. Too many plain dishes, not enough drink and the atmosphere reminding me of the inside of an old woman’s handbag. Either that or it had the distinct air of a witness box and juror’s bench, in which every judge looked a lot like my Aunt Agatha. Still, after a morning of waking up far earlier than my body can cope with and having to make polite conversation, I was hungry enough to find something I wanted to eat. The three of us ordered, with my Aunt adding an extra meal for her mutt. The waiter seemed only too happy to oblige his regular customer.

The food came quickly, as did Agatha’s examinations of us. Between devouring her plateful, she scrutinized us.

“So, what do you think of Bertram?” She asked, pointing an accusatory spoon towards me.

The girl gave me a fond smile. It looked quite genuine. I say she should’ve been an actress.

“He’s a little bit of a pathetic chap, isn’t he?”

My Aunt hummed back in agreement.

“But there’s something to be made of him. He is a gentleman, really.”

“You clearly haven’t spent enough time with him. I say you both should go to dinner this week. In fact, I’ll see to it that a reservation is made.”

“What a jolly good idea. Bertie?” The girl lay her eyes on me, “You’re not busy Friday, are you?”

I didn’t get to reply. My words were stolen by Aunt Agatha, informing Anne that I was always free. They both then decided on the restaurant and time when we would meet. I was only glad to say yes in the knowledge that my Aunt would not be accompanying us.

She then turned to me after scooping up the last of a pâté with her spoon and stuffing it between her lips, “And what do you think of Anne, Bertie?”

Such a question didn’t really seem fair to ask me with the very chappie we were discussing privy to my answer. It was almost as though she’d done it so I wouldn’t be able to make excuses as to why I couldn’t marry her. She was a dashed sneaky creature. I couldn’t imagine she didn’t see the pressure she’d put me under.

Anne peered up from the soup she’d been sipping away at. She gave me another of her sympathetic looks, similar to the one she’d given me at the flat. I’ve got to say, it did not help me, even though I doubted she cared much what I said. I must’ve spent a minute or so stammering while my Aunt was too busy drinking to tell me to ‘out with it.’

“I- I well I think she’s a positively sweet thing.” I finally said, expecting it to garner a chide from my beloved Aunt for one thing or another.

Instead, she lay her hand closest to Anne on the girl’s wrist- preventing her from taking another mouthful of soup, though she seemed not to be too bothered by that- and practically sung, “You must’ve made quite the impression on my nephew. He rarely had a kind word to say about any girl.”

“Oh I don’t believe that.” Anne shrugged, “He’s quite complementary.”

“So you think we might’ve done quite well in finding a man for you? And to think, of all the men out there, it would be my nephew. I never would’ve dreamt such a thing.”

“Well, before we decide anything,” Anne said hurriedly. I could see the slight panic on her face at Agatha’s contentment with us both, “He needs to meet mummy.”

“Oh yes, the parents.” I chimed in.

After giving me the customary look for ‘you’re comment was unneeded,’ Agatha looked back at Anne and assured her that if she was happy, her mother would be too. But of course, after the first meeting, even someone as desperate to see me wedded off as she could not announce or decide anything in that moment. The realization of that fact seemed to disappoint her greatly, as she fondly tapped Anne on the arm and turned back to her empty plate, her eyes riddled with the colour of disheartenment.

It didn’t last long, of course. Anne was too well versed in flattery and saying what was needed. We all left the table with smiles on our faces, though mine, and though I can’t say for Anne, I assumed hers too, was plastered on with great force. As soon as my Aunt was tucked safely away in a car, heading home, I took a great huff of air and declared that I needed a cigarette.

“Care to join me?”

“I’ll stand with you, if that’s what you want.” She replied. I was starting to wonder whether she indulged in any of the social habits. She didn’t drink, she refused a smoke. Perhaps she was quite the wife my A.G fancied for me, minus the whole cheeky blighter side of her. Oh, and the fact she wasn’t at all bothered about getting married.

But it was those two traits that made her quite agreeable to me. We wandered off down the street as I lit up a cigarette. We weren’t really headed anywhere in particular. We hadn’t even planned to keep walking, but it seemed we were extending our previous ‘date.’ In any case, we were walking in the direction of my flat, so I didn’t mind.

“You’re a dashed good liar.” I pointed out to her. She seemed to smile as though I’d complemented her shoes or something.

“Yes well, I’ve had a lot of practice. And you’re not so difficult to pretend to like.”

“Thank you…” I muttered, unsure of whether that was a particularly nice comment.

“And also, for Friday, I am going to the theatre with a friend beforehand, so you’ll have to pick me up from there.”

“Friday?”

“Dinner!” She reminded me, “I know we are only pretending and all that but we are still going to go to dinner, aren’t we?”

“Yes, yes.” I hadn’t actually believed we were saying all that only for Aunt Agatha’s benefit. The thought had just slipped my mind. I warned her that, on occasion, I had been informed I was slightly absent minded. Instead of noting that, she told me that it was pretty obvious.

Once I was finished my cigarette, I offered for the young lady to come up to my flat, since we weren’t far away, and have a chat with Jeeves. After all, we had needed his help in finding a way to worm ourselves out of this entanglement. However, she declined, citing that she needed to get home to her mother. In finding that this moment was our parting, there was a strange quietness between us. We were unsure of the etiquette. Were we parting as friends, or future fiancés? Would a good handshake suffice or a kiss on the cheek? We lingered on the edge of the street waiting for a taxi, and when it came, we edged towards it.

“I’m pleased to have met you, Mr Wooster.”

“Quite, quite. Oh and likewise and all that.”

She smirked, “Well, you don’t have to look like that.”

“Like what?”

“So daunted. Peck me on the cheek and I’ll be gone in a moment.”

Least to say I was thankful for the instruction. Rigidly, I took her shoulders and leant down for a very chaste kiss. She turned her head, so I caught her cheekbone. With the space between us, it probably looked more like siblings being told to kiss and make up after an argument rather than a sweet goodbye between two adults. Still, she was quite right. I had done it, and not a second later, she’d turned around and hopped into the taxi. She didn’t even look back at me before it pulled away from the curb.

Right, home I go then.

“Hold on a minute there.”

Or not.

“Bertie!”

What? I had quite enough of people calling my name. Quite enough for today. In fact, I was quite done with the whole bally day in general. It was just after 2 O’clock and I was already all keyed up for bed. Or a nice hot bath.

Instead, it was never-ending. When I turned around to put a face to the voice who’d just called me, I was met with the thunderous red one of my friend Tuppy. He stormed over the road and cornered me by the wall.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

I could see the confused faces of passers-by, ogling at the scene before them. I felt as though I was one of them, having no idea what was going on.

“You kissing Anne.”

Oh, _that_.

“You saw that then, did you?” I attempted to go on and explain, but was quickly cut off by my friend, who was in such a rage his words were practically spat out, spat out as if they were forced from his throat into his mouth.

“I see how it is, telling her to make up some nonsense about getting engaged just to get her to yourself. You surprise me, Bertie.”

“Surprise you how? What she told you was true. It’s a funny story actually.” I tried laughing. Tuppy didn’t reciprocate. “She was going to meet someone…”

“But she stumbled into you, did she? Well, look here! If I catch you around her again, if I see her one more time, you kissing her like… like… I’m going to biff you so hard!”

I thought he was about to then and there. He looked like a kettle sat too long on the stove. He was shaking, his face scarlet. I was surprised he hadn’t steam coming out of his ears. I thought he’d explode, but it instead culminated with him stalking off, leaving me to try and catch my breath against that wall. I couldn’t help thinking this was absurd. Why would I, Bertram Wooster, steal a girl from a friend? That’s against the Woosters’ code. Surely Tuppy knew that.

Tugging my shirt down and fixing the cuffs of my jacket, I bid everyone who had been watching a smile and asked if they’d had a good show- the latter only in my mind of course- and I went home. I needed it.


	5. The Wisdom of My Man Jeeves

I loved my flat. The moment I walked in, my mood quelled. The smell of cleaning fluid filled my nose, as well as the scent of flowers that stood in a vase by the door. Everything was clean. Everything was ordered. Although my home didn’t really reflect my person so much, it felt more like home now than it ever did when it had just been me living there. All the mess I used to have strewn about, the furnishings in the kitchen that used to gather dust because I had no idea how to use any of it, the pile of dirty clothes that would grow every day until, so I imagined, it would sprout legs and arms and wander out the front door, I wouldn’t want any of that back for a moment.

And certainly I preferred the constant, slight sounds of Jeeves at work either in the kitchen or in my bedroom, wherever he may’ve been hiding, over the silence I used to bear. When I called a ‘good afternoon’ to him, he popped out from the kitchen and came to help me with my coat, as if he hadn’t been working on anything else at all. Whenever I needed him, he was on hand to help. Few times he’d let me down, and in the long run, it was probably for the best.

Suitably attired, I sat down in my arm chair and heaved in a deep breath. I felt like I needed another cigarette, but couldn’t be bothered to get up and get them. Jeeves was tucking my coat away in a cupboard and tidying some other trinkets up while I sat there. It was always funny to me how I never noticed these things out of place. My definition of cleanliness was very different to his. I would’ve been quite happy keeping the flat the way I saw it when I first walked in. What he saw instead was mess still in need of a seeing to.

And he also had seen the slight exasperation in my heavy sigh, leading him to ask, “How was your luncheon with Mrs Gregson, sir?”

“Positively ripping, if you like being cross-examined about your previous time spent with a girl, and how interested you are in marrying said girl. She wants me to take her out to dinner on Friday.”

“The girl, Anne, Sir?”

“Yes, the girl Anne,” I parroted, before adding, “What did you think of her?”

Jeeves paused in his cleaning to think, “I understand why you found her so intriguing a character, Sir. Her changeability. She had a chameleonic ability to give a different impression depending on who she was in the company of.”

His brow was furrowed ever so slightly, and he clasped his hands behind his back. His thoughtful pose. I got the impression he did not entirely trust my fiancé to be. There had been many before her, and many he’d expressed a similar distaste for in the most minuscule of ways. I’d learnt to read most of them, understand what he meant by certain things he’d say, or the way in which he’d say them, or the look on his face as he did so. Granted, I was no ‘Jeeves whisperer,’ but I did believe that he was suspicious of the girl.

“What do you mean?”

“The young lady came across quite shy when she first entered the flat. It was evident to me why Mrs Gregson had chosen her as a potential wife for you. She was seemingly straight-laced and gave off an air of propriety. However, once Mrs Gregson had departed, she became considerably more talkative and… friendly.”

“Exactly, exactly Jeeves. And talking to her doesn’t make understanding her any easier.”

“You are referring to your morning out with her?”

“I am. She told me that her mother’s been trying to marry her off for ages and now she’s stuck with me and she’s about as enthusiastic as I am about the whole business. She actually wanted me to ask you if you have any ideas as to how she might be able to worm her way out of this engagement without upsetting her mother.”

With an assignment, Jeeves thought for a moment. I could practically see his mind working as he stood there. It worked dashed quickly, because before I could resolve myself to retrieve a cigarette from the box on the mantelpiece, he rocked forward on his toes which I took to mean he wanted to speak. Sometimes I wondered why he didn’t just do so. He was far too polite. As an employer, I didn’t expect him to only be my valet. He was hardly just that to me. And since I’d asked for his help anyway, I didn’t expect to have to ask for it again.

“Have you one of your ideas, Jeeves?” I asked as I pushed myself up out of my chair and plodded over to the mantelpiece. I opened the silver box on it with a lethargic movement, and drew one of the cigarettes out. Jeeves strode over armed with a lighter.

“I think so, Sir. Perhaps if you were to introduce the lady’s mother to a more agreeable suitor, perhaps one of the girl’s choosing, and prove yourself to be very inapt, the interest in an engagement to you would wane.”

“Ah, but therein lies the problem, my good man. She doesn’t want to be married at all.”

Jeeves let out a short humming sound, intrigued by the conundrum. I’m sure he did like a good puzzle. Even more so when he could neatly tie the whole thing into a bow and everyone could part ways none the wiser of his meddling. Surely those cogs up in his head were whirring, and in the meantime, he returned to clearing up. In and out of rooms he went, silent like a spectre, but a far more helpful one, rather than the type that might give a fright.

Though he could inadvertently give me a little start. I had not realised that, when I had sat back down, cigarette between my fingers, head lain back on the chair, I seemed to have drifted off. It was one of those sleeps you do not know you’ve had until you wake up. Well, that seems like any sleep, you may be saying to yourself, but I am not talking about the fact we can never know when we are asleep, as we are and don’t know we are until we are roused. I’m instead remarking on the curious feeling that I’d been awake the whole time, and yet when I tried to think of what I had been aware of, I could not. One moment, I was drawing the satisfying taste of a gasper into my lungs, the next Jeeves clearing his throat with much intention brought me jolting awake.

“Yes, Jeeves?” I said, trying not to sound too startled. However my heart was beating a mile a minute and my lungs were trying to keep up. It wasn’t easy to conceal these sorts of things from him.

“Sir, perhaps it might be best if you used this.” He suggested, handing to me an ash tray. Sheepishly, I took it and hooked my blazing cigarette over the rim of it as I tried not to meet his slightly concerned gaze. I thanked him, but found that was not the only reason he had woken me. He held in his hands two rolls of fabric, two ties. I recognised them. They were both these sort of novelty things I’d bought on a whim. They had made me laugh.

Clearly, Jeeves didn’t share that sentiment.

“What is it now?”

“I was curious about these garments, Sir. I had thought your friend Mr Little had left them here by accident and I endeavoured to return them to him by post.” As he spoke, he took one of them in hand, the purple one with small red umbrella patterns decorating it, and held it at the tip so it unravelled down towards the floor. He held it in such distain between his forefinger and thumb, as though he’d picked up one of Mackintosh’s leavings and could not find a bin to throw it into. And for my Aunt’s little pooch he wouldn’t have looked so utterly disgusted.

Honestly, in the world of fashion, that man had not a sense of humour to inject into it. To do such a thing seemed like a criminal offense.

“Jeeves, I’d hate to distract you from what seems to be your one man war against bad fashion sense, but I can’t help thinking you’d be better off spending more time thinking about mine and Miss Anne’s predicament rather than offensive garments in my wardrobe.”

My man stood up straighter, pushing his shoulders back and retorted, in the most muted way anyone could spit a response at another, “My mind is perfectly capable of following more than one train of thought, sir.”

“But it might be better if it spent more time thinking about this. It’s been ages and you haven’t come up with anything yet.”

“It has been 10 minutes.” He corrected me, gently. I shuffled in my chair. I was waiting for him to make some comment about the fact I had fallen asleep like an old man in the middle of the afternoon, but he seemed to refrain. In fact, I noticed there remained a slight concern in his eyes. I recalled the conversation we’d not finished earlier that day. And in thinking it had happened today, everything that had happened in that one day, I got the distinct urge to throw my head in my hands and groan. I mean the conversation we’d began about my mood, and subsequent fatigue. Jeeves seemed to know why I had been like that, but he’d never gotten the chance to tell me.

I was about to ask him again, when he piped up again while he was rolling my tie back up.

“In regards to Miss Anne and your engagement, I feel we may need to gain some more insight as to why her mother is so invested in seeing her in such an agreement before we can assess what we can do to subdue it.” He said.

“Isn’t it the same as every other old prune pushing their young blots into this sort of undesirable partnership?” I asked. Jeeves shook his head.

“It is rarely so straight-forward. There are many elements that cause people to possess this desire. Influences effecting one’s motivations, beliefs, morals and opinions.”

“Right ho,” I replied as though I had the faintest idea of what he was going on about. Cheerily, I put forward, “Shall I invite her here before our dinner to discuss all that?”

“That would be the best course of action, Sir.”

“Right.” I said again, setting down the ash tray I still had in my hands and drawing myself up, “Do you think you could draw me a bath, Jeeves. I’m in the mood for one.”

“Certainly, Sir. Would you like to take a rest before to limit the risk of falling asleep in the bath?”

Almost guiltily, I shrugged in agreement. It actually wasn’t guilt I was feeling, but embarrassment. What had gotten into me these past few days? I was feeling positively rummy. That’s the only way to put it. And it was for that exact reason I didn’t ask Jeeves what he thought was going on with me. I was too seduced by the idea of flopping onto my bed and getting a quick kip in which Jeeves filled up the tub. I’d ask him when I woke up. If I remembered…


	6. A Strangely Pleasant Evening

Friday came with the slight dread of remembering I was to bally well take a young lady to an engagement I hadn’t arranged myself, nor particularly wanted to attened. I just had not been looking forward to it to say the least. What I was anticipating a little bit more was working through the knots that bound poor Anne and myself to this relationship. Thankfully, we had the best knot untie-r I’d ever met. Jeeves was at hand to lend his keen problem untangling skills to us. And though I was probably happier not to go out to dinner with a girl on my arm, pretending to make wooing conversation while we were actually both wishing we were elsewhere, I was wishing it sooner. The sooner she’d turn up, the sooner we could agree on and enact a plan. And the sooner it would be over for another day.

Yes, old Bertram was no more the socialite on Friday than he had been the week prior. I was still locked in a pessimistic mood- starting to believe that when Gussie had drunkenly accused me of being such a downer, he may’ve been right. I was starting to blame it on the weather. The biting cold and frost that dusted the city every morning didn’t do much to inspire optimism in me. I couldn’t even bring myself to look forward to Christmas (though when you’ve got a choice between the dramatics and potential run-ins with other potential wifely persons at Aunt Dalia’s, or the painful silence and constant criticisms at Aunt Agatha’s, there isn’t really much to look forward to.) I was starting to wonder how improper it would be if I spent Christmas day with Jeeves. And I don’t mean have him cook the Christmas lunch and let him serve me like he always did. I meant spend the day in each other’s company as friends. That is, if he wasn’t going to take time off to see his family. Though I knew he was very proper, I thought I’d pluck up the courage to ask anyway. I didn’t mind being told that was not exactly his way of doing things.

But Christmas was still a while away. Matters looming more immediate were all I could think of, no matter how much I attempted to distract myself.

I’d returned to my flat after an afternoon spent flinging playing cards into an upturned hat while other friends and fellow Drones club members tried to play pool around us and bet money on who would win each game. I had been a little bit wary of going, since I didn’t really want to run into Tuppy any time soon. No doubt he was still seething from seeing the peck I placed on Anne’s cheek, and I assumed he wasn’t considering me an old friend anymore. But luckily, he hadn’t turned up there, so I was free to lounge about without the threat of getting my insides torn out.

When I returned, Jeeves was sorting out my clothes again, creating two piles. One was for repair, the other for washing, and between them, I caught sight of my pair of novelty ties rolled up and seemingly half hidden.

“And where are these going?” I asked. Reluctantly, Jeeves picked them both up, holding them a little further from him than he had with any of the other clothes.

“I’d been meaning to ask you again, Sir. Are you sure you’d like to fall down this particular hole of questionable fashion choices? You can understand the distress it causes. If you had been in need of new ties…”

“I was not, Jeeves. I’m sorry to distress you, but I just thought they’d be fun to have.”

“I fail to see the humorous aspect, sir, unless you wish to be laughed out of an establishment.”

“Oh come now!” I responded, “I told you I liked them. That should be enough for you to put up with them. And I’m surprised at you.”

“Surprised, sir?”

“Surprised at you for putting me down like that, knowing I’m already down.”

 I wasn’t expecting to see the remorse changing on Jeeves’ face.

“Forgive me, Sir. I forget just how passionate on the subject I can be.”

Passionate was an understatement. We’d had this conversation many a time before over many a questionable, or so-called questionable by overtly fashion conscious valets, item of clothing I’d bought without the consent of said valet. He should’ve been used to it. Then again, I should’ve gotten used to actually listening to him, because rarely did disliked garments last very long in my wardrobe. And probably for the best.

Mulling over that, I wandered into the living room and made a sweeping g over it all, as if to find something to do. What did I normally do? Surely we’ve all had moments like that, when we’re trying to pass time or act normal and suddenly we forget ourselves. It’s dashed hard to purposefully _be_ Bertram Wooster. I’m much better at doing it without meaning to.

This wasn’t really doing much to distract me. I sat down in an armchair, then decided I didn’t feel much like sitting down. I stood up awkwardly and paced this way and that, before sighing, “When is she going to be here?”

“Miss Anne?”

Jeeves had been so silent in entering the room, I’d not noticed he even had.

“Er, yes, what time did she say she’d be here?”

“7:30, sir.”

“And the time is now?”

Without even regarding his pocket watch, he told me, “6:40.”

I huffed again. Couldn’t the girl put me out of my misery and be early? It seemed not, as she breezed up to the flat at almost 20 to 8. Our reservation was at 8:30. Granted the restaurant was hardly on the other side of town, but I really didn’t want to risk losing our table. I couldn’t imagine trying to find something else to do with our time, or heading back to our respective homes early. Surely that would look bad for the both of us.

Still, Anne didn’t seem affected by the same thoughts as me. She chirpily greeted Jeeves at the door, handing him the suede blue coat she wore and matching shoulder bag before settling down on the sofa.

I had been sitting at the piano, though not playing it. I spun around on the stool to face her.

“What ho, Bertie.”

“What ho.”

“Oh you should play for me some time. I love music.”

“Oh, rather.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say after that. Anne, however, seemed to have dropped her shyness at the door and was perfectly able to keep up the chatter.

“Well, aren’t you going to come and sit next to me? Haven’t we got a lot to discuss?”

Women that ordered me around were far too common in my life. I half missed the shy coolness she’d afforded me when we’d first met. All of a sudden she was a bit more domineering, and the way in which she tapped the sofa beside her was unsettling to say the least. It would’ve been nice at one point in my life if I wasn’t reminded of one of my Aunts every time I had a conversation with a girl.

Still, I understood her eagerness to get this whole thing underway. She seemed in the same mind set as me. The quicker we do things, the sooner it’s over. I got up and decided to sit in my armchair, rather than by her side on the sofa. She didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. After all, there was no reason to act like love birds in the privacy of my flat. As I sat down, I asked her how she’d been, while Jeeves ‘endeavoured to finish my work so I may give this my full attention.’ As he shimmered out into another room, Anne mockingly, and fondly all at once, imitated his words, puffing out her chest and taking on a stoic expression.

“Honestly, if only we’d had some men around the house like Jeeves,” She broke into her own voice, “my childhood would’ve been so much fun. Do you think they train them like that?”

It was funny because I’d mused over that question myself before. I actually found myself chuckling.

Anne went on to tell me that her mother’s most desperate to meet me. She said it with such a tone of fatigue which I reciprocated when I spoke back. She also began talking about a long telephone conversation she’d had with my Aunt. Both of us almost physically winced at the very idea.

“She was telling me how to _deal_ with you.”

“Oh? Did she mention that you must put down every small personality trait I possess and reiterate what a useless scrap I am every second sentence?”

“In so many words,” She chuckled sympathetically, “Yes. But at least it stopped your friend Tuppy from getting through to me. He must’ve telephoned me about four times yesterday.”

“He can be like that. I haven’t seen him since… I think I’ll get it in the neck if he sees me again.”

“He’s not happy then?”

“Least to say. He happened to witness me kissing you before you got into the taxi the other day, and threatened to give me a good biff if he saw anything like it again.”

“Poor blighter.”

Jeeves joined us soon after that. Ever the valet, he refused to take a seat, instead keeping on his feet like a bally headmaster addressing the children of his school.

“So, what did you need to know?” Anne asked him.

“It would be helpful in finding a solution to your predicament if I had some understanding of why your mother might be desirous as to find you a matrimonial partner.”

“Well, makes sense.” She agreed, “Um, where to start? I would say it’s to do with money. My Father didn’t exactly leave us bank loads of cheques when he kicked the bucket. And my Mother was always worried she couldn’t keep up the life we’d become accustomed to. I don’t mean because of money. She could make it if she wanted to. It was more…”

“Convincing others in a certain society that you both belonged?” Jeeves suggested.

“Quite! And so I think she’s always wanted to pawn me off on some poor blighter to keep her status.”

Thoughtfully, Jeeves brought a finger up to his lips. He stayed quiet for a moment. I looked at Anne. She looked deeply intrigued by my manservant, waiting eagerly for his word. She, of course, didn’t have to wait long.

“Perhaps while you and Mr Wooster keep up the pretence of your courting, you could attempt to find an appropriate suitor for your Mother.”

“My Mother?” The girl parroted.

“If she could find a man that can provide the life she require, that would negate the need for you to do the same. The relationship between yourself and Mr Wooster could simply dissolve and it would be unlikely, what with the domestic joys now distracting her, your mother would be as anxious to find a replacement. As for Mrs Gregson, we can make her believe that you, Miss Anne, have set your eyes on another potential partner.”

 

“Dash it, Jeeves,” I interjected, “You’re a marvel.”

“An absolute marvel.” The girl agreed, “Do you have any ideas where I could find someone for my mother?”

“As I understand it, she did suggested that she meet Mr Wooster at the Christmas fair in her village. With the holiday atmosphere and comfort in the knowledge that her daughter may have finally found a marital prospect, she may be more open to finding love herself. And others may be experiencing a similar sentiment.”

“So, all we’d need to do is push someone in her way.”

“In a way, Sir.”

Jeeves and I smiled at one another. He truly was a heaven sent angel. Who knew guardian angels could have such specific skills like this? Well I was glad that, not only had I been graced with a wondrous life saver, but he had these abilities.

I looked to Anne too. She was smiling. She turned to me and suggested we make our way to dinner. She stood up, straightening out her dress now with a dash more enthusiasm and let Jeeves help her into her coat.

“You really are a marvel Jeeves.”

“Thank you, madam.”

I got on my own coat and reached for a scarf too. I could already tell it would be a cold evening. Outside, save for the streetlamps that threw spotlights onto the pavement and roads, it was practically pitch black. I much preferred evenings in the city than I did in the country, because at least the day didn’t end after 6 o’clock. You could still see enough of the street to venture out into the night, rather than being cooped up in some large, grand house with grounds so vast and unilluminated that they acted as blackout curtains. Still, the city was hardly inviting that night.

Yet, I was filled with a newfound enthusiasm. I held out my arm for Anne to take and we approached the night head on. That was, after Anne stopped in, my doorway for a moment and peered back at Jeeves, asking, “By the way, Jeeves, how did you know about my Mother’s plans to meet Bertie at the Christmas fair?”

“Your Mother informed Mrs Gregson of the idea, while in the vicinity of Mrs Gregson’s staff. I happen to have bumped into her butler yesterday.”

“I should warn you,” I told the girl, “Jeeves knows everyone.”

“And everything?” She asked. I nodded. She bit her lip, feigning worry at that fact, but it seemed only to be a joke, as in the next moment, we were bounding down the corridor towards the lift, then out on the street hailing a car.

The place Anne and my Aunt had made a reservation at wasn’t a particularly remarkable one. It seemed quite typical for the young couples of the town to frequent, to have their first dinners in and chat politely over a reasonably well-cooked meal. It was one of those places I couldn’t remember whether I’d been in before. The food hadn’t stood out in my mind, nor the atmosphere. There wasn’t any entertainment. Not any music or anything like that. It was quite a big establishment, dimly lit and with candles on each table to push this romantic theme. Everything was coloured blue, white or an emerald green. Even the plates had accented stripes around the rims.

We were taken to a table right in the middle of the room, where no one else seemed to be sitting. It wasn’t actually that popular a place, it seemed, if it was so empty on a Friday night. Perhaps it had something to do with the waiters’ placing of the people that wandered in. You can get turned off when you’re placed against walls, or in the middle of nowhere with no one around. That sort of thing can make anyone uncomfortable. And as if we needed to feel more uncomfortable.

We had menus thrust into our hands and the ‘specials’ board pointed out, then finally left alone. Anne said something about one of the meals being ‘absolutely lovely,’ but I can’t say that I was listening. Not until we ordered. Then I sort of snapped into ‘date’ mode.

The only thing was, this wasn’t really a date. Neither Anne nor I had any interest in courting one another. It felt almost as though we were putting on a show for an audience who wasn’t present.

“So, um… tell me about…”

“Tell me something about you.” Anne beat me to it, “I’ve just told you all about my mother and that. Now it’s your turn.”

“Oh, well, quite.” I stammered back. Apparently, it was hard to think of things to say about oneself when put on the spot. In fact, it was hard in any respect. “There’s not really too much to know. I’m sure a lot can be… what’s the word… ‘worked out’ by what my Aunt Agatha says about me. She’s known by us kin as the nephew crusher.”

“Really?” Anne chuckled, “Do you have other tortured brothers then?”

“No, but enough cousins. I have another Aunt, but she actually likes me.”

“Now that _is_ hard to believe.”

“I say!” I exclaimed, though I wasn’t so genuinely offended. I got the impression she was only joking, and she was actually quite funny, as I was to find out.

“Any other family?”

“Another Aunt, Emily.”

“And does she like you.”

I hummed, “Could go either way. My cousins, her sons, like to give her… and everyone come to think about it, the run around. I’ve a couple of uncles too. Lord Yaxley ran off with a waitress a while back, so never mention him in front of Aunt Agatha. She’s all about the whole ‘good stock’ thing.”

“Ah,” The girl suddenly sounded a bit muted. I cocked my head to the side, asking what the matter was. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, though a subdued smile.

“Course,” I carried on, “I’m a boarder minded chap. If my friends and kin want to marry a chorus girl, for all I care they can. I like to see them happy rather than tied down to some rummy character they have to spend the rest of their lives with.”

That brought a smile onto her face. She told me, before our starters were brought to us, she thought I was a lot more thoughtful than Aunt Agatha had made me out to be. I wasn’t sure about that. I just liked to see people happy, liked to help them if I could. It was the code of the Woosters to help a friend rather than hinder them. I felt my cheeks flush pink. Thankfully, she didn’t see it. She was too busy ogling her food.

We didn’t talk all that much while we ate, apart from telling each other how nice the food was. I think I was being nice. Once you’d tasted Anatole’s, my Aunt Delia’s chef,  cooking, everything else is a bit meh. After our first course, when our plates had been taken away and we were awaiting our mains, Anne leant further into the table and gave me a more serious look.

“Bertie, I want to tell you something. I mean, since we’re being honest about not wanting to get married and everything, I feel comfortable enough to tell you.”

“Oh, right ho.” I leant in too a little, careful not to dip my chest in my drink.

“I’d rather your Aunt not know about this too. She doesn’t know that my mother and I… we’re not from the best ‘stock.’ It’s my Father who was, and the reason he didn’t have much money when he passed on was because his family had cut him off because he’d married mother. She’s worked hard to keep her status. That’s partly why I can’t tell her I don’t want to get married. If I don’t, or if she doesn’t, we’re going to lose everything.”

“Good lord.” I gasped. Terrible business. I could never understand why people were so interested in class and all that balderdash. All that ‘good stock’ nonsense. My A.G was one of the worse for it, hence why my uncle is all but dead to her now. I felt awful for the girl. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You have.” She said, “You and Jeeves. We’ve got a plan now. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just have to marry you.”

I didn’t quite mean to look as horrified as I did when she said that. All the bashful colour in my cheeks drained. My heart practically stopped. I felt even worse for the girl in seeing my reaction. I hadn’t meant it at all. She actually wasn’t too bad a dish, of all the girls I’d met and been engaged to.

“I was only joking.” She said.

I apologised, “Marriage is one of those words I seem to avoid, but has a certain attraction to me. I can’t help worrying when I hear it.”

“I’m so desensitised to it now.”

“I am with ‘engagement.’ I’ve been engaged to more girls than I can count.”

“Now that, I can bally well understand.”

Our mains came but before we could tuck in, Anne got that serious look on her face again and said, “You’ll help me keep secret from your Aunt, will you?”

“Of course.”

Least to say, our dinner went quite well. We walked back out into the night on one another’s arms, which felt more comfortable now that it had before. We hailed a cab and I dropped the girl to her house on the edge of the city. Before she left, I pecked her on the cheek again, and she squeezed me on the arm.

“You’re not a bad chap, Bertie.” She told me.

“Well, you’re not too bad either.”


	7. Jeeves the Analyst

I arrived home not long after that and was ready for bed. Almost without removing my hat and coat I made my way through to the bedroom. I just about managed to greet Jeeves on my way in. He followed me and began to assist me in getting ready for a good night’s sleep, which I so longed for.

Though the night had been a good one, I was quite ready to have a good rest. At the very least I couldn’t wait to tuck myself under the blankets on my bed. Outside had been bitterly cold. Despite my wearing gloves my fingers still burned once I got into my flat as they adjusted to the warmer climate and, though I had a scarf, it didn’t do much to keep my face very warm. My neck, yes, but I couldn’t very well wander around with the scarf tied around my head. If nothing else, a fashion faux par I would be, and Jeeves would not have approved.

“Pleasant evening, Sir?” He asked, helping me out of my blazer and undoing my tie for me. He then took my hat from me and turned it over, stuffing my gloves, scarf and tie into it so that he could take it all over to the wardrobe in one go.

“Well Jeeves, could you imagine; I haven’t enjoyed going out for a few long weeks now. That is to say, I couldn’t have dreaded tonight more if I had tried. I wasn’t really looking forward to talking through my hat all evening just to please my Aunt, and to spend my time with a girl because I _have_ to, which you can understand, can’t you?

“Indeed, Sir.” Jeeves hummed as he always did, while drawing off my waistcoat that I’d gone about unbuttoning and laying it over his forearm.

“And yet, to my surprise, I actually enjoyed myself. She’s not as strange a girl as I had thought. Or if she is, I like her brand of strange.”

“It is often in the most unexpected of circumstances that we find enjoyment.” Jeeves responded.

“Well said.” I agreed, as I waddled back towards my bed. The buckles on my shoes were just refusing to come loose. I sat down and alternated between unbuttoning my shirt and trying to wiggle the straps free. Meanwhile, my mind was still whirring. The night had set me quite out of joint, in a good way. That is to say, if there is a good way of feeling out of place. Perhaps I was simply returning to my good humour once again.

“Maybe it just took me getting over myself and going out to get me back into shape, what?” I thought aloud. Jeeves cleared his throat. The man was putting away my clothes and folding those that needed to be washed on the chair. He had a look of withdrawal, as though he wished to say something, but thought better of it. And if he really did think better of it, why clear his throat, why draw my attention to his expression, which was quite obvious. It was too late for his subtle antics.

“What is it, Jeeves?”

“Nothing, Sir. I merely wished to remark on how a new acquaintanceship can assist one in a vulnerable time in one’s life. Particularly when the person is of a similar mind-set.”

I narrowed my eyes at my man. It felt as though he was hinting at something and I was meant to get it. Well, call me slow or stupid or such but I was just not understanding what exactly he was implying.

“Similar minds, eh Jeeves? You think Anne and I are one in the same?”

He coughed again, seemingly skating around an issue, “In a manner, Sir. At the present, you are both of one goal, working together to break free from an arrangement neither of you have ever wished to enter.”

“Is there something I’m not understanding, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“You sound a bit rummy my good man. All this sly talk of Anne and I being similar and my being vulnerable and all. You are, of course, referring to my mood of late.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

I began to feel distinctly exposed. The idea that I was ‘vulnerable.’ That word made me shiver as I said it. Me, Bertie Wooster, vulnerable and in need of a friend to get me through? Well, I could understand the sentiment in a way. Sometimes a chap needs another to twitter about their posish and whatnot, and perhaps yes, I had benefited from going out tonight and chatting about this and that with the young prune of my supposed affections, but there was something about Jeeves coming to this conclusion, using that word, which made me want to recoil, pull the blankets on my bed over me and not see him until morning, by which time I would hopefully have forgotten the entire conversation.

However, I was not so cowardice as to resort to that. I was actually quite curious.

“So are you just going to let me wonder about it and come to my own conclusions or could you enlighten me?”

“Yes, sir. Though I believe the subject matter is a difficult one to broach. I myself have not touched upon in my employ with you, and believe it may be an overstepping of my…”

I sighed, “Out with it, please.”

And though I told him to ‘out with it’ and so forth, he still hesitated. He stammered. I do not believe I’d ever heard him stammer, mull over his words while trying to speak them, second guessing what he was saying. It was quite unsettling of all of Jeeves unsettling ways, to see him so uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

Finally, he managed, “It is often in our nature to attempt to forget traumatic or otherwise challenging events in our past, and though we may succeed, the memory never truly leaves us. Though we may not recall exactly what it is causing us pain, the pain continues.”

Silently, I nodded, feeling a shiver down my spine. I tried to ignore it, but it returned when Jeeves carefully continued.

“It was a matter of pure accident that I overheard Mrs Gregson discussing you, sir, on the telephone some years ago with Mrs Travis. As I understood it, they were discussing your apparent contentment at the time of year. Was it not at this time when your mother…”

I held a hand up in the air to halt him.

Yes, he was right. Good Lord. Truly did Jeeves know me better than I knew myself. I did not even know that it still affected me. Folks come into our lives and leave it, at the strangest and most awkward of times. I was quite young when my mother went. I can’t pretend that it wasn’t a hard time for me.

Jeeves had paused and stood before me, a distinctly apologetic look on his face. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m often like this in the winter, aren’t I?” I chuckled.

He nodded, slowly, “Regrettably so, Sir.”

“I always just put it down to the weather.”

“An understandable assumption to make.”

“But why have you never brought it up before?”

“A combination of reasons, Sir. I hope you will forgive me, but I did not think it was my place, and I was not concerned that the vulnerability may lead you to make rash decisions.”

“I am liable to make a rash decision now, am I?” I asked. Jeeves cleared his throat once more. I had learnt that meant he didn’t want to say, or thought better of saying what he was about to. And yet it would take very little pushing to dislodge it. I merely needed to look at him long enough, silently waiting.

“I had the concern that perhaps Mrs Gregson had outdone herself in her matchmaking abilities this attempt.”

“Wha-” What was he saying? Surely not that he believed my vulnerability at this time might make me break the habit of a lifetime and entertain the possibility that having Anne on my arm for the rest of my life might not be such a bad idea. I ignored the moment in the taxi home that night when the thought had crossed my mind for the merest of seconds, as a plan B in case Jeeves’ plans, which always seem to be successful, didn’t work, and I responded, “Surely not. Tut, Jeeves, tut. Neither Anne nor I have any intention…”

“No, Sir.” Jeeves hurriedly said.

“Look here. No amount of ‘pain’ or bad mood is going to send me down that path, yes?”

Unconvincingly, Jeeves replied, “Yes sir?”

“Yes Jeeves.” I insisted. He merely nodded and walked towards the door. I noticed that my pyjamas were all set out on the bed ready for me to put them on. Yes, sleep. I had been looking forward to it. And though I still had a strange feeling about this all, I knew it wouldn’t keep me awake.

“Will that be all, Sir?” he asked. I looked around the room. But really, there wasn’t anything else I needed of him. I actually just wanted to say;

“Yes, thank you. Just… you really are a marvel, Jeeves. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Indeed, sir.”

As the door closed before his warming smile, I sighed and looked over at my pyjamas. At least now I knew why I was in a bad mood. Perhaps now I’d be able to rid myself of it if I just told myself ‘you’re sad about this, snap out of it.’ It seemed to work already, as I pulled on my bed-bottoms and thread my arms through my bed shirt. I was feeling all right really. And what Jeeves had said, well I was ignoring the comment about me being vulnerable enough to think marriage was a good idea, but about it being nice to meet someone new at times when you need a likeminded… well… mind to put with your own. What I thought about people coming into your life and leaving it at the oddest times. Well, Anne had certainly done that, what with turning up at the Drones a day before she was to be brought to me by my Aunt as some sort of marriage potential, completely unbeknownst to either of us when I started helping my old friend Tuppy woo her. Then to be brought to me while I was otherwise distracted wallowing in a mood I couldn’t understand. Hu. Strange how life can be. But life can wait. I’m tired.


End file.
